


Candle for the Table

by ColdAngels



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aaaaaah this was so fun to write : ), Cuteness and flirting ahead, M/M, pilotverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 13:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14137008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdAngels/pseuds/ColdAngels
Summary: Sherlock and John go on their second date. Yes, this time it is a date. Pilotverse. Complete and utter fluffiness. Adorable JL.





	Candle for the Table

**Author's Note:**

> This took sooooooo long to get started lol. I'm completely in love with the Unaired Pilot and I just had to write a fic on it. 
> 
> Apparently, it's called 'A Touch of Pink'? Not sure if that's cannon or fanon, but whatever. I'm taking it. ^^
> 
> Hope you like this! : )

“Do you just know everyone in Westminster?” John asks through a mouthful of chicken chow mein.

The owner of the restaurant had just approached the two with a joyous smile and Sherlock had had to explain to John of how they knew one another - got him off a murder charge too, apparently. After he’d walked off, John had continuing eating his food, before a question had arisen in his mind and he’d stared at Sherlock with his chopsticks poised in the air.

Sherlock snorts, “‘Course not, John.” He pauses, and a strange look comes on his face, “Though, that would be helpful, wouldn’t it. No harm in getting free food all the time.”

John smiles, suppressing an amused laugh as he goes back to his plate, “I guess so, yeah.”

Sherlock rests his elbow on the table, chin in palm as he stares across the table at John, a warm smile curling his lips. Much to Johns persistence, he had eventually caved and ordered a plate of something - some pork dish, though he’s not entirely sure - but he hasn’t touched it once since it came to their table 12 minutes ago. He’s been too busy thinking about today, and trying to figure out the man on the other side of the lit candle.

John takes a bite of chicken as he points his chopsticks in Sherlocks direction, but he’s still looking at his plate, “Back there, at Angelos, he said something about a Headless Nun Case…..” He pauses to look up, but when he sees Sherlock, his words stick in his throat, “What’re you looking at?”

Sherlock rests his fingers by his bottom lip, “I’m just trying to understand why you shot the cabbie.”

John grins, “Because you would’ve died if I hadn’t.”

“But you could’ve come into the flat.”

There’s a pause, until John shrugs and continues eating, “Guess I like the danger,” he says teasingly.

Sherlocks eyes search him, and he bites down on his pinky finger, “Mm…”

It’s then that John notices Sherlocks plate, “Have you eaten yet?”

He’s too distracted, “No….”

“Not hungry?” When Sherlock doesn’t answer, John reaches over to take his hand away, “Hey, stop staring. You can admire me back at the flat.” That shakes him out of it. John sits back in his chair, “Now eat.”

Sherlock frowns at him, but when John swaps the chopsticks for a fork, he reluctantly takes his own sticks from the napkin and goes to pick up a piece of pork. From the corner of his eye, John watches him chew it, and his brows furrow when he sees him grab the napkin and put it to his mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

Sherlock parts his lips, then balls it up and puts it to the side, “I think my dish’s raw.”

John places his fork down and raises a hand to get a waiters attention. Sherlocks eyes widen, “What’re you doing?”

“Getting someone - excuse me?”

Sherlocks cheeks go pink as a waiter approaches them, smiling at Johns hand, “Yes?”

“Yeah, um…” John leans forward to take Sherlocks plate. “My friends dish wasn’t cooked properly.”

The waiter takes it, still holding that smile, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sir. Would you like to choose another one?”

John glances at Sherlock, who stares open-mouthed between them, “I - um - “

He smiles sweetly at the waiter, “It won’t be cooked like the first one, will it?”

“No, of course not, Sir.”

John glances at his own meal, thinks it over for a second, then makes up his mind, “We’re okay for now. But could we get another plate?”

“I’ll be right back.” They watch the waiter leave, and Sherlock doesn’t speak until he’s disappeared from view.

He can’t meet Johns eyes fully; he’s too flustered from before, “Thank you, John.”

Johns face softens, “You okay sharing mine?”

“Of course. Don’t want to starve, do I?”

When he does finally lift his gaze to him, John grins cheekily, “You were fine with it before.”

Sherlock smirks, and John’s about to reply when the waiter comes back with a small plate and fork. He sets them down in front of John, and he nods a thanks before he leaves again. After giving him a large helping, he passes the plate and fork over and Sherlock slowly begins to dig in. John watches him this time - partly to make sure Sherlock actually does eat, and partly because he finds it funny how Sherlock got so embarrassed over the uncooked food.

Sherlock had seemed so cool the entire evening, and here he is all flustered over a dish not being up to its standard. John finds himself biting back a soft smile, and the two finish their dishes in silence, each making furtive glances at the other.

When John finally moves on to his fortune cookie, he realises Sherlock’s got his eyes on him again, “You’re not opening your cookie, then?”

Sherlock smiles, “I don’t believe in fortunes, John. They’re just fictitious wordings on a piece of paper. Anyone could write one.”

“Maybe you’ve found your true calling, Sherlock.” Before he can reply, John’s cracking open his, and Sherlock settles for quietly watching him, the flame making his eyes more alight than they are.

John reads his fortune to himself, then, to Sherlocks surprise, pockets it.

He frowns, “What’d it say?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in fortunes.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, “I don’t. But I can still know what they are.”

“It said something about living long and prospering,” he recites. Sherlock raises a brow, but John reaches for his cookie and snaps it open, reading aloud before Sherlock can protest, “You already know the answer to the question lingering inside your head.” He looks up at him, “Alright, what is it?”

Sherlock blinks at him, “I’m sorry?”

“The question you have in your head, what is it?”

He glances from him to the paper, “It’s a piece of paper, John. Besides, everyone has questions in their head. It being given to me doesn’t automatically indicate that the fortune was specifically for me - “

John grins and waves the paper dangerously close to the candle, “Just tell me, Sherlock.”

“I’ve been wondering if you’d still like to stay at Baker Street.”

“....Yes, of course I would. I thought I already was…” He begins to laugh and Sherlock picks at the pieces of cookie.

“So you’re not….put off by me?”

John stops, and he goes to respond, but sees that Sherlock really does mean that, and his voice becomes sincere, “Sherlock, you’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met. Why would I turn away from all this?”

Sherlock pushes the cookie away as he smiles halfheartedly at him, “Most people would.”

Johns face softens and he reaches a hand over to take Sherlocks, “Guess I’m not most people.”

Sherlocks cheeks turn pink, “No, you’re not.”

Before either can say another word, a waiter comes back to gather their plates. John lets go, drawing his hand under the desk as he says a thank you to him and they both stand to leave. As they walk off down the street, the neon sign in the door switches off and the lights inside start to dim. The streets are empty and the sky’s clear of cloud this evening, with the stars shining brightly down on them. The police cars and tape have long cleared off, and the only sound is their shoes against the pavement.

When they’re a long way off from the restaurant, it’s Sherlock who speaks first, “You could’ve gotten another dish. It was all on the house.”

“Hm?”

“Back there at the restaurant. It would’ve been free.”

“Oh. No, that didn’t matter.”

Sherlock frowns, “Then why didn’t you get something else?”

“‘Cause it probably would’ve been uncooked like the first one.”

Sherlock gently nudges him, “Ah, sentiment, right.”

John grins as he nudges back, “I wouldn’t be a good doctor if I didn’t look out for my patients, would I?”

Sherlock looks off to the side, but even in such low light, John can see the slow blush on his face, and with his eyes still on him, he reaches down to take his hand again and snorts with laughter when Sherlocks eyes widen in surprise. He gently squeezes for good measure, and Sherlock goes a step further by pressing his shoulder to his, which John doesn’t move away from. They stay like that until they get back to Baker Street, and though there’s no one about, John feels an incredible comfort wash over him. Like he really is home for good, and this isn’t simply some little flatshare.

When they go inside, John’s expecting to be greeted by their landlady, but when she doesn’t emerge, he passes Sherlock (who’s taking off his coat and scarf) to make for the stairs. Just as he gets to the second step, Sherlock stops him with another statement,

“I never thanked you for saving my life back there.”

John turns to face him, but he doesn’t answer right away. He’s strangely fixed on the light from the streetlamps are shining on Sherlocks curls, and how completely warm and soft his face is. It now just dawns on him of how they’d been behaving all night, and he smiles carefully at him, “Oh, um...it was no problem.”

He’s about to continue up, but Sherlock takes his hand again and their eyes meet, “Would you mind if I thanked you now?”

Johns heart speeds up and a lump makes it’s presence in his throat. He goes down a step to be at Sherlocks height, and is just able to voice a quiet ‘sure’, before Sherlock softly kisses him. With his other hand, he cups Johns face, and John rests a hand on Sherlocks shoulder, the silk of his shirt between his fingers.

As they’re about to part, a door from below opens and Mrs. Hudson appears in a light purple nightie, “Oh, you’re back.”

Sherlock slowly stops kissing him and bows his head in embarrassment as John stifles a giggle against Sherlocks curls. It’s like being caught by a parent. But John’s far over the moon to feel any sense of wrong-doing.

Sherlock turns his head to their landlady, “Yes, we got in a few minutes ago.”

She smiles and switches her attention to John, “So, Dr. Watson?”

He looks at her, practically beaming, “Hm?”

“Which bed will you be staying in?”

John bites his lip, and glances to Sherlock, almost asking for confirmation. Sherlock simply looks back with a quiet fondness and John lets out a shaky breath as he nods to Mrs. Hudson, “If it’s alright with you, Mrs. H, I’ll have Sherlocks bed.”

From the darkness of the space between the stairs and the hallway, Sherlock squeezes Johns hand, and Mrs. H lights up.

“Oh, lovely!” She sighs, “I knew he was perfect for you, Sherlock. Oh you raved about him before he got here - “

Sherlock avoids her eyes as John snickers beside him, and Mrs. H taps her nose.

“Intuition, I call it. Though, how he talked about you, John, I don’t think I needed it anyhow.” She laughs and waves a hand in the air, “Sorry boys, I’ll let you get to bed. If there will be any sleeping, that is.” She winks, and Sherlocks face burns in complete mortification. John on the other hand is laughing into Sherlocks shoulder. Before Mrs. Hudson goes in, she touches Johns arm and he gives her a grateful smile.

As soon as her door shuts, Sherlock presses his lips to Johns, then when he draws back, John has to hide yet another burst of giggles at seeing Sherlocks usually pale face having turned a bright red.

“So, you talked a lot about me?”

Sherlock shrugs, “She may have been exaggerating a bit.”

John licks his lips and pulls Sherlock in for another kiss. It lasts for a little longer this time, and John has to grasp the bannister to stop his knees from giving out beneath him. Sherlock has a hand around his waist to keep him from falling, and Johns other hand is buried in Sherlocks hair. When they let go, they’re panting slightly, and without a word, Sherlock takes Johns hand and they almost race up the stairs to get into the flat. They’re at the landing when Sherlock turns to John, a slightly hesitant look on his features,

“If it’s alright with you, John, I’d like to take this relationship slow. I know what Mrs. Hudson said, but I’d feel more comfortable if we were to get to know one another a bit more first. Is that okay?”

He looks so worried, John realises, and he doesn’t even need to be. He leans up to kiss Sherlocks cheek, “Of course, yeah.”

Sherlock smiles, and he gives him a final thank you kiss before they go inside. The place has been cleaned up thanks to the police team, and there’s no sign that a crime scene ever took place here. He lets go of Johns hand to head to the kitchen to put the kettle on, and when he’s out of sight, John takes his fortune from his pocket to re-read what it had really said:

A new voyage will fill your life with untold memories.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
